Faithful Companions
by Cheryl W
Summary: Set after Hunted. He was going to leave. It had come to him in the shower or maybe it was in the car. One shot angsty rambling. No slash.


Title: Faithful Companions

Author:Cheryl W.

Summary: Set after Hunted. He was going to leave. It had come to him in the shower or maybe it was in the car. (One shot angsty rambling. No slash.)

Author's Note: Angsty/ lame stuff this and I think I'm pretty harsh to one of the brothers in here.

He was going to leave. It had come to him in the shower or maybe it was in the car. No, it was when he heard the rattle of the abandoned motel's door, yeah that was it. Right then and there he knew he shouldn't stay, couldn't. But he'd do it right, wouldn't take some pansy flight in the middle of the night without a note, any goodbyes, or reasons why. He had done it before, could do it again. Would do it because it was really what his brother wanted, needed, was what he needed, though that felt like a betrayal, admitting that.

Pulling on his shirt, he wiped his hand across the fogged up mirror, saw his reflection, the fresh bruises and wondered when that had stopped shocking him, annoying him. When bruises and cuts making appearances on his face were as expected, as acceptable as stubble. And pain was commonplace, was the most faithful companion he had, going to bed with him and waking up with him.

Abandoning the notion of shaving, he brushed his teeth, patted his face dry and ran a hand through his wet hair. Wondered how far away he could get before he had to stop, had to face the reality that he had left, had left his brother and wasn't planning on coming back. And he knew wherever he stopped, there was relief and fear and bitter regret and hatred waiting for him, ready to free him and condemn him equally.

Taking one more look at the reflection in the mirror of the man he didn't like, he opened the bathroom door, set to make his goodbyes, as messy or as clean as it would come and then slip out the door like it meant nothing to him to leave his brother behind, to go it alone. He wasn't prepared for his brother's sharp eyes to be on him the instant the door swung open, didn't know what to make of the way he tracked his progress across the room, to his bed, to his bag that lay there, still packed.

And he couldn't say it casually, couldn't start it with something lame like, 'I've been thinking…'. So he simply said it, got it out there, let it fill the air of the room. "I'm leaving," but he couldn't look to his brother, it was bad enough hearing his brother's sharp intake of breath. Instead, he focused on shoving his clothing into his bag, down further into the depths, of pulling the zipper closed. The silence in the room was like cyanide gas, choking him, killing him. He shot a sideways look to his brother, saw the stunned expression blatantly on his face. "We're better off apart. You know, with everything that's after us. It's safer. Divide and conquer and all that stuff." But there is no nod of agreement from his brother only the bob of his adam's apple. "I'll call you…and you can call me," he offered because he couldn't sever their bond clinically, though he knew his words were a lie. Truth was he wasn't sure what he was lying about more, that he would call or that he would pick up if his brother actually did call him.

Where there had once been heated words marking their parting, now only silence emanated from them both. And maybe that was as fine a way to leave it as they could hope for. Nothing wrong said, no false promises, no accusations or recriminations, just …nothing, just letting each other go. Pulling the bag onto his shoulder, he stood there, facing his brother and found there were tears in his brother's eyes. They spilled free as his brother's head finally bobbed in acceptance, agreement.

Suddenly feeling like he was in a burning room, he side stepped his brother and stalked for the door, his own throat closing up. He fumbled with the door handle a moment and then he was out, was free, was admitting defeat, was fading away. He had taken five steps before the sound of his name came brokenly from his brother as an anguished plea. He halted but didn't turn around because it was for the best, him leaving, even if his brother couldn't see that.

"Don't go," came from his brother's voice but it was hardwired with emotions, the depths of which he had never heard from his brother before, sorrow and desperation and longing. "I know you might be better off without me, safer, but what if you're not. It's what I kept thinking about when I was laying awake in that motel room without you. What if you need me and I'm not there. And then you did need me, were in danger because of me! I know I don't have the …the right to ask you to stay with me, not after what I did. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry and I know that doesn't make it right, doesn't even give you a reason to stay. Crap, I…I don't know why you would stay, why you've stayed with me as long as you have. It was a crappy thing to do, to bail on you when you asked….begged me to give you some time."

He didn't turn around, couldn't. Could only stand there fighting down the tremors, clenching his jaw to shut down any emotional release. He tensed as footsteps approached, wasn't sure how he would react if his brother reached out for him now, touched him.

His brother's words brushed by his ear. "I made a mistake. And I know, it's been a mistake I've made a few times, leaving you, thinking I didn't need you, pushing you away."

He nodded his head but didn't turn around, could only offer up a hard earned truth. "I think you had it right."

But in the next second his arm was gripped tightly and he was spun around. "No, I wasn't right! We should stick together! I need you!"

"But I don't need you," came from somewhere inside him and he pried his brother's hand from his arm and walked out, away, his last sight of his brother's face marred by his brother's devastation and loss and tears. Tears that soon streaked down his own face but don't sway his path.

An hour later, when his phone rang, he ignored it, turned it off. Kept it off.

He was in the ER laying face down on a exam bed, waiting to get his back stitched up after a job went wrong when he sensed someone walking into the curtained off area. Didn't care enough to look who it was, frankly didn't care if it was Jason from the Friday the 13th movies, ready to chainsaw him into pieces. He jolted, not from pain but surprise, when gentle fingers touched his back, fingers uncovered by sterile gloves, fingers that delivered a touch he knew. He clutched the bed with hands that shook. Then a single drop of liquid hit his back, followed shortly by another. And he remembered getting this type of christening before when he was hurt at a much younger age, when the fingers now resting on his back were much smaller.

His name was a sob from his brother and a gentle hand came to rest on his head. "Don't make me go. Please, Dean. Let me stay with you." As another one of his brother's tears fell upon his flesh, Dean knew that pain wasn't his most faithful companion: love was, even when he foolishly abandoned the person who loved him most in some backwater motel.

When the ER doctor returned to stitch up the man's back, he discovered his patient was gone and so was the suture kit.

Snsnsnsnsnsnsn

I know pretty lame but this was sitting all done on my hard-drive. And since I'm really in a writing slump right now I thought if I posted it, got some feedback, I might be able to break through my crappy writing phase.

Now that I've kinda depressed you …have a great evening!

And I promise to write something "cheery"…ok more sappy next time I post.

Cheryl W.


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